Mecha Love
by xSaraphine
Summary: The gear room was in the basement, the lowest point of the power factory. He found her there, at her lowest point, too.


The power plant was an electric monster, a massive metallic stronghold settled near the center of Republic City. Its limbs were pieces of rusted iron and dripping pipe, tunnels that filtered ore and pumped steam, rods that channeled electric and powered their urbanized living. Mako had clocked in on the actuator level, the first floor where lightning flux rods were all lined up in straight rows like war cannons, their conductor tips glowing with anxiety for each worker to take their aim. He donned a fireproof mask and a padded apron, his workman gloves thicker than his casual, fingerless set. His feet were firmly planted on the ground in a standard pair of steel-toed boots that every man next to him wore. They all took the same position; one leg forward, the back one bent in a painful, tedious lunge it would be hard for a rookie to keep. Mako's shoulders twisted with one arm thrown back, the other extended far before his body with two fingers pointed at the conductor tip. His fingertips buzzed with energy, flicking only blue sparks at first, but then exploding with a crooked lazuline zap of pure electricity, of fire-bred lightning.

The sound was loud and rumbling each time a bolt took off, but it faded into an immediate sizzled as the lightning met the actuators. That sizzle was long-lasting and filled Mako's ears to the brim as the men all around him exhausted their energy, stopping and starting, never breaking for more than a minute. It was fast-paced business and a worker only stopped when the tip of his glove got too hot. The actuator level was too important for the risk of a hazard like fire. There were no amateurs on this level, only seasoned fire benders.

Mako had broken into the business by chance. There were no permanent jobs at the power plant, something that came from the Economic Provision Plan that was established to make work for poor benders. The boss man gathered workers day by day, and one man short on a lazy Sunday, he had snatched Mako as a last-minute, last-chance fill-in from the streets. There had been no tutorial, but Mako learned quick, and he found that the boss man liked that. He worked hard, too, and he could count on Bossy to pluck him from the crowd if he was ever there at the power plant, looking for work. For that, Mako was thankful. The wages weren't particularly plentiful, but they were enough to keep him and Bolin trucking along.

Mako had been managing full shifts this week, laboring nine to five every day. He doubted he'd be doing much work in the next few weeks and he needed what he could in case things didn't go well. A steam whistle blew overhead, its shrill scream alerting him that the eighth hour was over. He could go home now.

The bolt fire ceased and the men groaned as they stood upright, their spines cracking. Mako peeled off his mask, turning to approach the workman's bench. He took his safety equipment off, putting it back in its respective locker one-by-one. There was a lot of rustling around him as the group changed back into their street clothes, Mako finding it really too hot to put his over shirt back on, but doing it anyways. He didn't want to visit her in sweat-covered clothing.

Bossy, an old man with a round stomach and a bowler hat, looked up as Mako approached with his locker padlock in hand. Bossy raised a brow as Mako turned the lock in, his expression expectant. Mako glanced away from him, pursing his lips tightly together.

"Aren't you going to go see her?" the old man rasped.

"She probably doesn't want to see me."

"I doubt that. It's her birthday."

"She probably doesn't want to see anybody."

"It's been six months since Yuuna died, Mako. She hasn't been out of that room."

His golden eyes had drifted to an iron-wrought stairwell at the far corner of the actuator level, a set of stairs that spiraled into the basement. The gear room was down there. _She _was down there. Thinking about her, Mako anxiously fingered the lace-wrapped object in his pocket.

"I… Well. Have you talked to her?"

Bossy snorted. "Why would she talk to me? My wife did tell me to take her some groceries about two weeks ago, so I did. All she said was thank you. Don't even know if she touched 'em."

Mako's cool-expression broke and panic spread across his face. He sat a hard stare on Bossy.

"She hasn't been eating?"

"Like a bird, if she has. We couldn't give her too much, havin' the kids and all…"

"I'll go see her."

The tails of Mako's coat fluttered as he swept past the desk, expression hard-set as he marched across the actuator floor to the staircase. He began his descent, Bossy watching. The old man sighed, shaking his head before returning to the duty at hand.

The gears turned like lives passed; some smoothly, some groaning as metal crossed metal, sparking in lieu of conflict. The whole basement was a labyrinth of them, twists and turns framed by walls of gears upon gears. The majority of them clicked and rolled in mechanic harmony, but a lone pair was setting the whole rhythm off a note. Luka searched for them, following their cries like a mother would a child.

She found the set under the wall labeled 4D. These gears worked to maintain the pressure of the vapor machines on the fourth floor. Rolling her scaffolding before the wall, Luka cranked it a few times until it was about a foot in distance from the ground. She stepped up, blue hues beginning to scrutinize the wall for the source of the problem. She found it easily, locating two shrieking gears, shifted in their places, trying to scratch past each other with vain efforts. The left-side one was bent. The right-hand piece had a ridge trapped in the dent. Luka crossed her arms as she analyzed them, figuring the best way to reshape them, to smoothen and soothe their industrious troubles.

She was eighteen today. Or rather, she was eighteen tonight. The clock had read something along nine when Yuuna pulled her from the streets. Before then, Luka had always counted her age by the New Years' fireworks over Aang Memorial Island. After that, she counted them every year on the day and the hour that Yuuna took her in. He had used to celebrate with her, that old, wrinkled gear-man. He would bring sweet buns home and set them on the table, light a little candle over one of the sugared pastries and tell her to make a wish. But that was before Yuuna had died, his passing earlier that year from one of the many bacterial diseases that plagued these filthy city streets. She didn't know what she'd do now.

Luka had been an orphan before she met Yuuna. Moved from orphanage to orphanage, darting from those horrible orphanages to scrounge on the streets. She had been running with a pack of homeless boys about her same age when Yuuna found her and plucked her up, taking her to the factory where he taught her how to care for the gears. Luka was an earth bender, but she could only manage metal bending. Her body couldn't tune to the hard earth like it tuned to the clicking gears, the shivering metal. Between Luka and Yuuna, they kept the factory running. They kept the machines working. Yuuna was the closest thing to family that Luka ever had. After he died, it was the gear room where the two of them had lived together.

She hadn't gone out much since his passing. In fact, she hadn't gone out all. She kept herself reserved to the gear room, fussing over its functioning, worried about its movement even after her work hours and come and passed. The steam whistle had blown, but today was no different. The gears remained her main concern.

Mako watched her from behind. The stairs had rattled beneath him, but the creaking sounds of the gear room had muffled his footfalls. He found Luka without much effort, veering around a few corners before coming up her rear. For a girl keeping herself locked up in a birdcage of mecha, no sunlight or seed, she still looked as radiant as he remembered.

Luka now stood on the tip-toes of lace-up boots that rose just a few inches above her ankle. Black socks peeked out from underneath them, the long legs stemming upwards further protected by dark tights. She wore black shorts, too, a knit sweater the color of slate thrown over them. She wore her clothes a little bit tight over ripe curves, but what else was he to expect? Mako doubted Luka wanted any loose fabric snagging in the turns of those gears.

She had grown well since they were children. When she was little, he doted over her like he doted over Bolin, but then Yuuna had adopted her. At first, Mako had been sour about it – he had always seen Luka as his. But now he knew it was for the better. She looked much healthier than she had when she was a street rat, her tall form shapely, though still thin. Her skin was pale from isolating herself in the basement, but she was still lovely with full, roseate lips and peach-tinted cheeks. Her eyes were wide and round; irises colored with the most powerful blue that shocked him even more than misfired electric. They were framed by soft black ringlets. She had them gathered to the side today, a dark nest against the nape of her neck all bound together with a bowed ribbon. He longed to see those curls lose.

One of her arms had lifted, her gloved hand hovering in the air with her leather-encased fingers flexed. As her digits began to ghost to the right, moving slowly across the gear then snapping back to the left, the metal began to straighten. The dent began to disappear. The grey-scale particles were molded again to perfection, forming a straight edge that the opposing gear slid right against, moving without catch, the two of them falling into their correct rhythm once again. Luka let out a sigh of relief.

Mako loved to watch her work. Fire bending was explosive and passionate, but Luka's metal bending was focused and particular. Everything that occurred under her skillful hand was meant to happen. Nothing went unnoticed or uncared for beneath those bright blue eyes… But he wasn't there watch her work. He was supposed to checking up on her. His eyes drifted down the rows, looking for the little gear-less space where she made her home. He could see her bed and a table in the distance. The table was bare. _Oh, Luka…_

"Hey," he finally spoke up, projecting the sound of his voice to reach her.

If Luka's ears hadn't been so adjusted to the music made by the spinning gears and the twirling screws, she might not have heard him. Fortunately, however, she _was_ accustomed to these industrious noises and she was even further acquainted with the throaty way Mako spoke. Her heart swelled as soon as she recognized him and realized that he had come to see her. The first time in months someone had just come to _see _her.

Luka's hand descended to her side and she took a step back, pivoting on the ball of her foot in a short spin to face him. Though she rarely felt like smiling anymore, her lower lip curved, her lush pout morphing into a grin. A low feeling that always nagged her, that dragged her down in these dark days, kept the expression from acquiring a great girth, but at least it was there. She offered it to him. She hoped it communicated how glad Luka was to see Mako.

"Hey there," she responded, tilting her hip and tapping the wrench she held in one hand against her thigh. "Long time no see."

Mako always wore a steely face, brow knitted, lips slightly unsmiling. It softened now and one corner of his mouth tilted upwards. Only for Luka, and occasionally, Bolin. He reached into his pocket again now, fishing around until he felt the puffy package. He procured it and held it out to her in his palm, the sweet bun wrapped in a frustrated fashion, proving the wrapper's inability to manipulate doily paper with limp ribbon strained from numerous attempts to tie it.

"Happy birthday," Mako spoke again over the machines. He took another glance at the sad packaging, still bearing a half-smile as he tossed it to Luka. "Bolin wrapped it."

Luka cupped her hands, capturing the package in her cradled palms. Her lashes fluttered as she looked down at it, blinking several times. Her smile faltered and for a second she appeared taken aback, lifting her gaze to look at Mako. A moment later her grin returned, wider than ever.

"You remembered!" she exclaimed, her knees bending as she leapt from the scaffolding. Her elation built even as she stumbled across the floor, now laughing. Her arms looped around Mako's neck, drawing him in for a tight, loving hug.

Mako tensed. He had never been good with such… _intimacy_. Luka was so openly loving and kind, her feelings open and readable like a book splayed on the desk. It took him a moment before he could manage to hug her back, his grip steadily growing tighter, taking the brief moment to inhale her scent deeply. Luka always smelled like vanilla, no matter how much oil and off put steam she was bathed in.

"You'll take half, right? Let me split it with you?" she insisted as she retreated, putting about a foot between them now.

Mako reluctantly released her, his smile evaporated somewhere within the barrage of the hug, of Luka. His arms were at his sides again, hands stuffed in his pockets. He shook his head at her.

"No. It's all yours," he said, "Though… I want you come with me for dinner. Outside of this place."

It sounded like more of a demand than a request. It was, however, a weight lifted from his chest. He looked at her now, one brow cocked, expecting a favorable answer. What Luka returned to him was not what he wanted.

"Outside?" Luka's quizzical response echoed her inner thoughts.

How long had it been since she had been outside? Groceries…? No, no. Bossy had brought her groceries. She had been eating from the same rice for weeks. She must have been lingering in the gear room since Yuuna's funeral. Since she had become the sole guardian of the gears. The gears… A look of panic flushed her face as she thought about them, her gaze drifting back to the wall of machinery behind her. She glanced at Mako. She had no desire to reject him, but the gears… Yuuna…

"Luka…" Mako extended the final vowel of her name, warning her. His eyes narrowed slightly and her top row of teeth fell upon the pillow of her bottom lip, biting into it.

"The gears will be fine without you," he reasoned.

Mako knew she needed this. She needed _something_. A morale booster. A little sun. Some food other than scraps…

"We can do this one of two ways, Luka," Mako added, smirking like it was a joke, but tone indicating he was entirely serious.

He drew her attention away from her mecha-oriented life, coaxing her with his bartering words to join him. Luka had started to drift back to the wall, the shift in her posture an unconscious movement, but she stopped now and pulled herself upright. She took a cautious step closer to him. "Maybe. If I'm not out for _too _long…"

Mako's smirk grew wider, victorious. He pulled his hands from his pocket and swept them to the side, gesturing her to move along.

"Hurry up. And grab your coat. It's cold outside…"


End file.
